


desire, not consolation

by athenejen



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Bruises, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingering, Intercrural Sex, Locker Room Sex, M/M, Mild D/s Overtones, PWP, Post-Loss, Riding, Rimming, Shower Sex, Sleepy Sex, blowjob, friend sex, not explicitly negotiated but entirely and enthusiastically consented
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenejen/pseuds/athenejen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please?" Segs mumbles, lips still pressed to the fabric.  He glances up at Shawn hopefully.  "It'll make me feel better."</p><p>And, fuck.  How is Shawn supposed to say no to that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	desire, not consolation

**Author's Note:**

> I first had the tiny, D/s-flavored kernel of this idea in 2011, inspired by those amazing photos of Segs on his knees getting vodka poured into his mouth after the Bruins won the Cup. Then in 2012 it morphed into an intended kink_bingo fill for "begging" (with a side order of "bites/bruises" and "obedience"). In 2013 after the Bruins lost in the Cup Final to the Hawks, it gained a specific timestamp and setting, and I wrote much of the second half during mini_wrimo that fall. Then I inexplicably sat on it for over a year. Now that both of these guys are with other teams, it occurred to me that I should probably hurry up and release it into the wild before it becomes even more out of date.
> 
> Farwing, thanks so much for looking this over, you are awesome.
> 
> Title is paraphrased from Jeff Buckley's "The Last Goodbye."

It's a shitty, shitty loss, and maybe in a month or six Shawn will be able to feel philosophical about it. But right now, there's only frustration, disappointment, and the horrible, overwhelming feeling of having let the city down. It's spread over the room like a thick layer of oppressive grey cloud. Hell, it's probably hanging over the whole fucking state.

The boys are quiet, on the whole — shoulder thumps and sad half-smiles, that's about as rowdy as anyone gets. Z stands up and tells them all that no matter what, he's proud of them, and that they should be proud of their season, even if it wasn't the ending they wanted. Shawn can tell it hurts him to say it out loud, that it's over. But it has to be said.

Guys drift out, some in small groups, some to join their families in the hall, some alone. Shawn sits in his stall, staring at the carpet. He's completely dressed and ready to go, but he's having trouble summoning the energy to get himself up and out the door. He sits there long enough that even the equipment and training staff trickles out, one by one, as they finish their post-game routines. Tomorrow they'll be back bright and early to get started on the end-of-season... everything.

Even the cleaning staff has left by the time Shawn feels ready to stand up again. He raises his head and realizes, with a start, that he's not alone. Segsy's sitting in his own stall, across the room, head leaned back and eyes closed, looking way more in pain and exhausted than a kid his age should be able to manage. His suit is rumpled all to hell and his entire body looks tense and fragile, like if he stopped holding himself perfectly still, he'd shatter right to pieces.

Segs sits up slowly, opens his eyes. When he sees Shawn watching him, the expression on his face turns speculative, and he gives Shawn a small, sad smile. Then he stands, walks straight to Shawn, and drops to his knees in front of him.

Shawn opens his mouth to say something, but Tyler puts his hands on Shawn's thighs and the warmth of his palms somehow shocks Shawn into shutting up. Segs takes a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering dark against his cheek, then leans in get his mouth on Shawn's dick through his suit pants, which, he realizes belatedly, had started showing some interest in the situation as soon as Segs started walking towards him.

"Please?" Segs mumbles, lips still pressed to the fabric. He glances up at Shawn hopefully. "It'll make me feel better."

And, fuck. How is Shawn supposed to say no to that?

"Get your suit off," he tells Tyler hoarsely. Tyler bites his lip and nods, then pulls himself to his feet to strip down to his boxers. His suit ends up in a pile on the floor and Shawn stops him from kneeling again.

"Hang it up." The disbelieving look Segs gives him makes him huff out laugh. "You'll thank me later," Shawn tells him. He shrugs out of his own suit jacket and loosens his tie, hanging the jacket up in his stall. After a moment of hesitation, Tyler moves, picking up his suit and crossing the dressing room again to hang it up in his own stall. Shawn contemplates Tyler's ass as he goes, while unbuckling his own belt, unzipping, and freeing his dick from its confines. He starts to roll his sleeves up to the elbow, but Segs gets back before he's done, and when he bends down to finish the job, Shawn doesn't stop him.

Once that's done, Shawn reaches out to rest his hands on Tyler's hips, thumbs stroking along his hipbones. Slowly, he drags the elastic of Tyler's boxers down, until they slip under the curve of Tyler's ass and his half-hard cock can't seem to decide whether to peek out of the slit or pop over the top. Shawn makes the decision for it, palming it — Segs sucks in a sharp breath as he does — and fishing the length of it out the top, but leaving his balls trapped.

Shawn rubs his thumb over the head of Tyler's dick and musters up a teasing grin. Then he lets go and very deliberately places his hands on his own thighs, letting them fall open wider while giving Segs a challenging look.

"Well?" He smirks up at Segs, who bites his lip, then drops to his knees again.

Segs glances up at Shawn's face, then back down, and leans in slowly. His eyes slide shut as he laps tentatively at the head of Shawn's dick. Shawn's usually more of a get-down-to-business kind of guy, but he lets Segs take his time exploring, mouthing along the length and licking back up to the crown, kissing the tip and laving over the slit with his tongue. He has to suppress a moan when Segs finally takes his cock all the way into his mouth and starts sucking in earnest. One of Shawn's hands ends up resting on top of Tyler's head, not pushing or pulling or even really holding on, just... being there.

Segs is objectively really good at these, which Shawn already knew, but it's not just about the technique. There's something in the way he stays in the moment the entire time, the way he paces himself and varies what he does just because he wants to. Maybe the real reason is that it's so fucking clear that he wants to.

The rhythm builds until Shawn finds himself guiding Tyler's mouth up and down with his hand, and when he slides his other hand along his jaw to cup the nape of his neck, Tyler moans around his cock and opens his throat for Shawn. Shawn thrusts in hard and fast a few times, then pulls Segs in all the way, until his nose hits Shawn's stomach and his mouth and throat are tight and perfect around him.

Tyler's got his eyes closed, face and chest flushed a heated pink, hands gripping the shit out of the back of Shawn's knees, and Shawn can't keep himself from rasping out, "Look at me." Segs opens his eyes to meet Shawn's, and Shawn can see how they're watering with the effort of keeping that much of Shawn's dick down his throat.

" _Fuck_ ," Shawn breathes. He pulls Tyler off and starts jacking himself almost brutally fast. Segs is sitting back on his heels now, cock fully hard against his abs, head tipped back, mouth hanging open eagerly, and Shawn _groans_ , squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again.

"Tongue," he demands, and Tyler obediently sticks his tongue out, curled up a little like he wants to catch as much on it as possible, and somehow that detail is what sends Shawn over the edge, striping with come all the parts of Segs he can reach. As he does, he retains just enough consideration to lift his foot and press it firmly against Tyler's dick. Tyler chokes out a gasp, coming all over himself and Shawn's slightly-scuffed black dress shoe, then tipping over sideways to sprawl across the floor of the dressing room, shuddering.

After they stay like that for a minute or two, Segs on the floor and Shawn collapsed back in his stall, both of them breathing hard, Shawn nudges Tyler's side with his foot. 

"C'mon kid, shower."

"Nnnngh," says Segs. He doesn't move.

Shawn stands, gets a towel to wipe off his shoe, tosses it into the dirty bin. Segs is still where he left him on the floor, and Shawn nudges him again as he goes back to his stall and starts to strip, hanging his suit up in pieces as he goes.

Once he's naked, he leans over Tyler. "Seriously," he says, poking at Tyler's shoulder. "Up."

Segs cracks open one eye. He sighs, then pulls himself into sitting position. Shawn offers him a hand up. Segs takes it, but sways in to lean heavily against Shawn's side once he's up.

Shawn herds him into the end shower, strips him of his boxers, and leaves him under the water to go take his own quick shower. When he comes back to check on Segs, he's soaping himself up half-heartedly, shoulder braced against the wall.

"Here," says Shawn, and reaches for some soap to help. Segs nods and lets him, going limp and relaxed under Shawn's hands. Shawn soaps and rinses carefully, methodically, starting with his limbs and working in towards his torso. He doesn't comment on the little whispery gasp Segs gives when he brushes over his nipples, just keeps going, letting the warm water sluice over both of them.

Segs melts into the side of the shower as Shawn works, and when his fingers dip into the cleft of his ass, he moans and melts even more, pressing his cheek to the tile and spreading his legs to give Shawn better access. Which is how Shawn finds himself rubbing soapy foam over Tyler's hole, over and over, with Tyler's moans echoing off the walls. Shawn considers trying to go farther right there in the shower, maybe using... he looks around the stall. Conditioner? That might work. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, "You wanna come home with me?"

Tyler freezes, just for a second, probably because even though they've messed around a couple of times before this — months apart, usually, and on the road — they've never gone quite this far. But then he cranes his head back to meet Shawn's eyes, swallows hard, and turns all the way around. Shawn hands slip off of Tyler's skin and he can't stop himself from dropping his gaze to see that Segs is hard again, and flushed pink all over from the hot water, and just exactly the distraction he needs.

"Yeah," Tyler says in a rough whisper, and Shawn snaps his eyes back up to his face. Segs worries at his upper lip with his teeth, then says it again, louder. "Yeah. I wanna come home with you."

So Shawn takes him home. He takes him home and straight to the bedroom, says, "Strip," and then goes to the kitchen to get them each a bottle of Gatorade. Segs is just tossing his button-down onto the chair when Shawn gets back; Shawn hands him one of the bottles and then strips himself, hanging his suit up in the to-be-dry-cleaned side of his closet.

He turns back to the bed to find Tyler sitting on the edge of it, staring down at his own hands. He flexes them meditatively, then visibly shakes himself out of it and looks up at Shawn.

"How—" he swallows, flexes his hands again. "How do you want me?"

"Face down on the bed," Shawn says, without hesitation. He's got a plan.

Segs flushes, but goes easily, stretching out with his arms reaching toward the headboard. Shawn tugs one of the pillows out from beneath the comforter and has Segs lift his hips so he can tuck it under him. He gives Tyler's ass a little experimental slap and admires the way Segs twitches, squirming.

"Yeah," he hears himself say. "Spread your legs." Segs groans, and does. Shawn climbs onto the bed and nudges them a little bit farther apart with his knees. He palms Tyler's ass, one hand on each cheek, spreads him open, and digs his fingers in a little into the plushest part of his ass. "Now hold still."

The noise Segs makes when Shawn's tongue first touches his hole is totally worth the slight soapy taste from the shower earlier, and soon enough, all he tastes is Tyler. It's not long before Tyler's trying to grind himself into the pillow, gasping and moaning in a steady stream of incredibly hot sounds and going completely uncoordinated with want.

"Fuck," Segs chants into the bedspread. "Fuck fuck fuck." Shawn keeps going, reducing Tyler to a writhing, desperate, begging mess before pulling away just long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand.

Tyler freezes immediately at the first touch of Shawn's lube-covered hand brushing across his hole and keeps completely still as Shawn carefully pushes in a finger. He even seems to be holding his breath, he's so quiet. And he's so, so tight, even after Shawn's tongue had to have opened him up at least some.

"God, you're tight," Shawn says. "Has anyone even done this to you before?"

"Um," Tyler replies, sounding strained, and Shawn almost pulls his finger out, but Tyler somehow twists back to grab onto his wrist and hold his hand in place.

"No, don't stop." Tyler sounds breathy and a little desperate, but one-hundred percent sure. "I want you to." He lets go of Shawn's wrist and turns back to face the headboard, bracing himself on his elbows and arching his back, ass in the air eagerly. " _Please_ , I want you to."

"Fuck," Shawn mutters. "Okay. Okay. Let me just get some more lube—"

He drizzles more lube around his knuckle, slowly twists his finger out and back in a few times, rubs along the rim with his thumb. He can hear Segs breathing harshly as he holds himself in position, and when he twists his finger in a little deeper, Tyler gasps and sways, so Shawn grabs his hip with his other hand to steady him.

Shawn takes it at an agonizingly slow pace, opening Tyler up with one finger, then two, then twisting and curling them with gradually increasing intent, making sure to tighten his grip on Tyler's hip once he finds his prostrate so Segs doesn't jerk himself completely out of position with each thrust.

Eventually, he's got three fingers buried in Tyler's ridiculously lush, round ass, twisting and spreading in a steady rhythm that has Segs nearly trembling.

Shawn leans in, bites Tyler's left asscheek _hard_. Segs yelps and twitches his shoulders away, just as his ass clenches around Shawn's fingers and he thrusts himself back for more like his body's not even sure what it's trying to do.

"I bet I could make you come just like this," Shawn says, and he meant it to sound like he's giving Segsy shit, but instead it comes out almost meditative. "Fingers in your ass, not even touching your dick. What do you think?" He twists his fingers, and Tyler gasps.

"Fuck you, Thorty. Just fuck me already, will you?"

Shawn laughs, twists his fingers again just to see Tyler's whole body jerk. "I don't know, kid, I'm kind of enjoying this."

But he slowly draws his fingers out and wipes his hand on the towel he'd brought in from the bathroom. Segs is holding himself still, panting lightly, and he jumps when Shawn slaps his ass playfully.

"C'mon, get up. If you want it you're gonna have to work for it."

Tyler stretches like a cat before unfolding to stand at the side of the bed, and then stretches some more, shaking out his arms and legs.

After Tyler's up, Shawn climbs onto the bed and makes himself comfortable on his back, head on one of the pillows near the headboard. He pumps his dick a couple of times, then smooths a condom down over it.

He looks over at Tyler, who's absently jerking himself while staring at Shawn's dick greedily. "Well, Segsy?" he asks, amused. "Climb on up."

Shawn has to give Tyler credit, the kid _goes_ for it. The slowly deeper squeeze of Tyler's ass around Shawn's dick feels fucking amazing, and then he barely waits a beat before starting to rock desperately on top of him, eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open and gasping.

His dick is bouncing enthusiastically back and forth between their abs, and while Segs doesn't seem like he minds one bit, it's distracting Shawn, so he wraps his hand around it and smiles when Tyler groans and starts to writhe even faster.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tyler chants in time with his hips, until he comes messily between them, head thrown back and rhythm falling all to hell, and Shawn's _so fucking close_ , he can't stop himself from grabbing Tyler's hip with his free hand to thrust and thrust and _thrust_ —

It hits him like a puck to the head and he collapses back onto the bed, pulling Segs with him in a sprawl.

"Um," Segs mumbles into Shawn's collarbone after a few seconds. "Let me just—" and reaches down to hang onto the condom as he carefully pulls himself up and off.

Then he somehow gets it off of Shawn, ties it off, and tosses it into the trash all in what seems like a single continuous motion, before flopping back down onto the bed half on top of Shawn.

Tyler's kind of pointy but also warm, and Shawn's pretty much become one with the bed at this point anyway, so the effort it would take to move him doesn't really seem worth it.

Shawn wakes up a couple of hours later with Segs snoring softly in his ear. Shawn's arm has tucked itself across Tyler's lower back, hand palming the far side Tyler's hip. He feels a tug of reluctance to move, but he makes himself get up and go take a piss, then fills two glasses with water and brings them back to the bedroom.

In his absence Segs has sprawled facedown across most of the bed, taking up way more room than seems like it should be possible. Shawn finds himself running his eyes over Tyler's skin, cataloguing bruises. Most of them are probably from the last couple of games of the series — ugh — but the ones on his hip are unmistakably in a fingertip pattern.

When he brushes the pads of his fingers over them, Segs sighs and stretches out across the bed even further. Shawn presses down a little, experimentally, and Tyler shifts his hips on the bed with a quiet moan.

They end up staying just like that for a few long minutes, Shawn's fingers pressing into the bruises in a pulsing, unconscious rhythm while Tyler moves his hips in time in these minute little jerks that no doubt provide both too much and not enough friction to his cock, trapped as it is under him.

Shawn is completely comfortable with how mesmerized he is by the flexing of Segs's ass as his hips move. You'd have to be dead to not find that fascinating, and while Shawn's still plenty unhappy about losing the series and is going to continue to be for a long while yet, he's definitely not dead.

He can't resist leaning down and mouthing at the dimples that appear right where Tyler's lower back meets his ass, his chin bumping against the smooth, plump curve.

Tyler's breath hitches, and he rocks his hips into the bed a few times before getting himself under control and going still.

"Good," Shawn murmurs into Tyler's skin, and starts nipping his way up his spine. Setting his teeth on the nape of Segs's neck gets him a loud gasp, and Tyler's hips are moving again, a restless undulation.

Shawn climbs onto the bed behind Segs, one knee on the bed near Tyler's hip, the other leg thrown across Tyler's ass to better feel the movement. He's half covering Segs at first, but after a moment he curls his arm around Tyler's waist to pull him closer and back, until it's more like they're spooning, both resting on their sides.

Tyler makes a sleepy noise that's half-query, half-protest, but it morphs into a moan when Shawn takes advantage of their new position to wrap his hand around Tyler's dick.

Soon Segs is fully hard and hot in his hand, head thrown back against Shawn's shoulder and ass nestled sweetly against Shawn's cock as he gives himself over. It's a heady thing, cradling a malleable Tyler in his arms as he coaxes moan after moan from his throat.

Tyler makes a sound like he's dying when he comes, and with what seems like a last burst of energy, grinds himself desperately back into Shawn like he can't get enough contact, like he might never get enough, before going limp and relaxed on the bed, emanating satisfaction. After a moment, he reaches back and tugs at Shawn's hip, clearly encouraging him to keep moving.

Shawn uses the mess on his hand to slick himself up even more, smearing it together with the precome that's been beading on the tip of his dick and leaving little shiny trails across Tyler's ass and lower back. Then he carefully pushes his cock between Tyler's thighs to find the heat and friction he needs. Segs groans his approval and squeezes his thighs together as he thrusts back to help set a rhythm.

"God, Segs," Shawn says, and tucks his face against the warm, flushed skin of Tyler's shoulder as snaps his hips forward, coming slippery and hot all over himself and the sheets and Tyler's thighs.

Shawn spends the next several minutes with his face pressed against Tyler's shoulder, trying to get his breathing under control. Segs is twisted back slightly, his free hand resting on Shawn's hip, fingers digging in just enough to feel steadying, solid.

Eventually, he lets go to sprawl forward across the bed, and says into the pillow, "I really gotta shower."

Shawn laughs, just a little, and rolls onto his back. "Pretty sure we both do. You can go first, though."

"'Kay," says Segs, then lies there for another thirty seconds before hauling himself to his feet.

"Towels in the closet in there," Shawn says. He watches him surreptitiously through slitted eyes as he heads toward the master bath. He feels obscurely pleased about the shiny mess that's drying stickily all over Tyler's abs and thighs.

Shawn dozes until Segs gets out of the shower — still slightly damp and flushed pink all over from the heat — then takes his turn. Normally he'd be annoyed at the way Segs has somehow managed to get the entire floor of the bathroom wet, but today he can't bring himself to care.

When he's done, he finds Tyler still naked and sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through something on his phone.

"Clean-out tomorrow," he says without looking up. He swipes at his phone a couple of times, then sets it on the nearest nightstand before meeting Shawn's eyes.

"Marchy's talking about going out tonight and getting blind stinking drunk. You in?"

Shawn blinks. "Well, yeah. It's kinda traditional."

Tyler nods, picks his phone back up to send off a text. "He's gonna round up the guys, I guess. But that's not for hours." Segs fiddles with his phone, then looks up at Shawn again. "You wanna go mess up your guest room sheets?"

Shawn swallows, because, "Yeah. Yeah, I do. But we should probably eat something first. Hydrate. Be responsible."

Tyler winces, then laughs a little. There's a bitter edge to it, but he grins wryly at Shawn anyway. "Yeah, okay. Be responsible. I can do that."

"But after," Shawn promises, and goes to dig around in his closet for sweatpants for both of them. He can feel Tyler's eyes on his back.

"Yeah," says Segs. "After."


End file.
